Chapter 7 The Only Two Humans on the Earth #2
On Thursday, their last full day in Destin, they stay on the beach until six at night, long after the sun’s heat has thinned into cool air. The six of them lie on their backs on the sand, each of them facing the sky, the waves lulling them into that meditative state between life and sleep.
“I don’t want to leave,” Clay says, breaking the silence.
None of them responds, but Hannah knows they all agree with him.
She opens her eyes to the filter of her sunglasses and the rose-tinted sky.
She wonders how the six of them must look to the clouds: lined up across the sand, their half-naked bodies spread out in offering, their burnt skin and newly formed freckles proof that they are not afraid of the sun, that they believe only in this day and their own immortality.
“I don’t want to leave, either,” Wally says.
“Me neither,” Joanie says.
Hannah searches the clouds, the gulls, the sun.
She wants to leave and she wants to stay.
She wants to raise her hand to the heavens and command that everything stop, that time come to a standstill, that laws and physics and nature release their grip for just a pocket of a moment, just long enough for Hannah to pull Baker off the sand and walk with her along the shoreline, following the infinite ocean, nothing moving on the whole green earth except for the two of them and the water and the sky.
And Hannah wants to ask her things. What does she think about in those last few seconds before she falls asleep?
Does her mind swim in colors when she listens to music?
How does she feel when she walks beneath the trees in the Garden District?
When is she most afraid? When is it worth it to be brave?
When she prays, does she mean it? Has she ever known God?
Does she want to? When it’s late at night, and the world feels uncontainable, and the air is humid on her skin, who does she think about?
“I want to stay here forever,” Clay says.
Baker says nothing. Hannah says nothing.
Dr. and Mrs. Landry tell them to eat dinner on their own that night; they want to attend a Holy Thursday service at the local church and go out on their own afterward.
“Why don’t you try that new salad bar restaurant?
” Mrs. Landry suggests while dabbing aloe on Clay’s sunburnt neck. “Eat something nice and healthy.”
“Yeah, Mama, we probably will,” Clay says.
After the Landrys leave, the six of them prepare a feast of macaroni and cheese, Hot Pockets, Ore-Ida French fries, and Coca-Colas, and instead of sitting at the table, they carry their plates out to the porch and eat during the sunset.
“Talk about a Last Supper,” Wally says between bites of fries.
“This is my Hot Pocket,” Luke intones, holding it up before Wally’s face, “which will be given up for you.”
They spend their final night swimming in the pool and the hot tub. The Landrys come home late and wave down at them from the balcony, and Hannah and her friends wave up at them and wish them a good night.
“I’m gonna miss this place,” Wally says while Hannah sits with him in the hot tub.
Hannah looks down toward the pool, where Baker sits on Clay’s shoulders so she can chicken fight with Joanie and Luke. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, me too.”
Around midnight, tired and wrinkly from staying in the pool for so long, they grab towels and tiptoe upstairs to the family room. Clay turns on a movie and they lie around on the couches, clutching their towels to their wet bodies and trying to stay awake on their last night.
Wally dozes off halfway through the film, and when his head falls onto Hannah’s bare shoulder, she lets it stay there, thinking there’s no point in fighting it.
When the movie ends, Clay rises sleepily from the couch and turns the television off. Joanie and Luke are asleep on the couch to Hannah’s left; Wally is asleep on her shoulder; and Baker appears to be asleep on the couch to Hannah’s right. Hannah closes her eyes before Clay turns around.
“I’m going to bed,” he whispers. His footsteps move toward the couch he and Baker were sharing. “You want to come?”
There’s absolute silence for a moment—Hannah’s heart dangles on the edge of something—but then Baker says, “Not tonight. Too tired.”
Hannah opens her eyes a fraction of an inch and watches them. Clay stands over Baker, still cloaked in a pool towel. Baker sits motionless on the couch.
“All right, whatever.” He moves away from her and turns on a lamp.
Hannah keeps her eyes closed while Clay rouses Luke and Joanie, and then she feigns waking up when he draws close to her and Wally. They stretch and rearrange the cushions on the couch, and then everyone staggers off toward their separate bedrooms, none of them speaking in their tired states.
Hannah reaches the second floor landing before she realizes Baker isn’t behind her. She peeks her head over the railing to see Baker still sitting on the couch, her head in her hands.
“You coming?” Hannah whispers down to her.
Baker jerks her head up, startled. In the dim light of the floor lamp, her eyes look black and dead. “In a minute.”
Hannah hesitates, wondering if she should go back down to her, but Baker has already looked away.
Hannah takes a shower, brushes her teeth, combs out the tangles in her hair.
Then she lies in bed and turns over the week’s events, wondering if things will be better when they’re back in Baton Rouge, desperately trying to ignore the ache in her chest. She lies there for what seems like forever and still Baker does not come.
One horrified part of Hannah starts to wonder if Baker changed her mind and went down to Clay’s room.
Another part of her starts to worry in a bigger way: She can’t stop picturing that black, dead look in Baker’s eyes.
She slips out of bed and tiptoes downstairs.
Baker is no longer in the family room, nor is she in the kitchen or on the porch.
Hannah creeps down to the pool level and pauses outside the boys’ room, then opens their door as quietly as she can.
All three boys are asleep in their single beds.
Baker isn’t with them. Hannah breathes a sigh of relief.
She’s not sure why she does it, but she leaves the house and heads for the beach. A lone streetlamp lights her way as she walks along, shivering in her T-shirt and sleep shorts. She passes the outdoor shower at the edge of the dunes, then steps barefoot onto the cool sand.
At first, she can’t see anything besides the whispering beach grass and the outline of the water—but then the unmistakable silhouette of a person comes into view.
Baker sits rigidly on the sand, her outline illuminated by the bright white moon.
Hannah’s feet rub against the sand with that familiar slipper sound, and she lets them, hoping Baker will hear her coming.
Baker turns around when Hannah is still a few feet away. For a moment, she looks alarmed, but then she recognizes Hannah. “Oh,” she breathes, turning back to the ocean. “It’s you.”
Hannah wilts at her defeated tone. “Can I sit?”
Baker doesn’t respond. Hannah decides to push her luck, settling herself gently on the sand, making sure their knees don’t touch. “What are you doing out here?”
Baker watches the water. She seems very far away, almost catatonic. It’s as if every bit of life has been zapped from her body.
Hannah eyes the bottle of cabernet resting between Baker’s knees. “Are you drinking?”
Baker sighs. “You always were smart.”
The sarcasm stings, but Hannah doesn’t respond to it. She drops her head and studies the goose bumps on her legs. “Can I have some?”
Baker hands the bottle over without looking at her. Hannah swallows the warm, bitter wine, feels it flood all the way down to her stomach.
“My dad always says,” Hannah whispers, pausing to take another drink, “that when he drinks wine, he likes to imagine the hands of the person who picked the grapes.”
Baker sprinkles sand onto her calves. “That sounds like something your dad would say,” she says listlessly.
“Baker, I’m sorry,” Hannah says. She folds her hands around the wine bottle and breathes once, twice, three times. “I shouldn’t have kissed you in the garage—it’s just—it’s just that I felt so much, and I thought you felt it, too.”
The waves break at the sand, then pull back toward their indefinable center. They whisper their mesmerizing magic, saying Yes, yes, Truth.
“Don’t say that word,” Baker snaps.
“What word? Kissed?”
Baker flinches.
“Well, guess what, that’s what we did. We kissed. Even if you want to pretend otherwise.”
“We can’t have this conversation.”
“We have to have it. We can’t keep doing this same thing and not talking about it—”
“Hannah, I do not want to talk about this,” Baker hisses.
“Do you think I do?!”
“Yes! I think that’s exactly what you want! You always want to talk about things that shouldn’t be talked about!”
“Because we NEED to! You can’t just keep hiding from me, and from whatever is going on between us, just because it might be messy and scary and require you to color outside the lines! I know you’re scared, but guess what, I’m scared, too!”
“You’re not scared!” Baker yells, wrenching herself off the sand. “You’re never scared!”
Hannah sits dumbfounded for a moment, then pushes up from the sand and follows Baker farther down the beach. “How do you know? How do you know I’m not scared?! Maybe I am scared! Maybe I’m terrified!”